Sleeping Stone
by MagicSocks
Summary: Sindri is the beloved child of the dwarven king and queen, that is, until her step brother is born. When her mother goes insane, how can she hold her world together?


_Constructive criticism is more than welcome! This is a shortened version of a possible first-chapter for a novel…or something like that. It was written as a descriptive essay for a low-level collage class. Enjoy!_

Endings and Beginnings 

Eyes the color of burnt walnut looked upwards, peering shrewdly at the crystal bowl suspended from fine silver chains. Full of clear water, the vessel was the habitat of three large fish, each one radiating a soft bluish white light. "Will that fish be okay?" a small concerned voice raised the question. The dwarf-girl kicked her bare feet off the side of the bed where she was seated. Her long blonde hair lay smoothed on her shoulders, having just been brushed. She looked to her nurse, a rosy-cheeked lady-dwarf with hair red as a glowing coal and eyes just as warming to the soul. "He'll no doubt be at rights by tomorrow," the nurse told her charge with a gentle smile and a quaint nod as she finished folding up the laundry and putting it in the hamper. "But how do you know?" the little girl asked unconvinced with worried eyes. "Sindri, he's just swimming in circles, naught wrong with that is there?" Nurse gestured convincingly at the light, "He's not going to dim and die." Brushing back her flame colored curls the nurse smiled, "I promise." Sindri was skeptical but found there was nothing to do but trust her nurse.

Reluctant as any child, she climbed into her bed with the blue and yellow blankets, tracing the patterns of cave animals with her fingers. Her small pale hands drew the shapes of giant dragons in gold colored stitching, furry brownies, and even the glimmer-fish with hard blue knots for eyes. Looking up, she saw Nurse reach for the blue curtain. "But I'm not tired..." she pouted. Sindri's nurse ignored the excuse, "Time for bed." she said firmly and pulled the curtain in its circle around the crystal bowl to dim the glow of the fish. The room darkened until all the shapes were twilight blue shadows illuminated by the soft swirling glow the column of blue fabric made. Sindri settled down under her covers as the barely audible 'snick' of a dwarven made door sounded and footsteps pattered faintly down the smooth hallway floor. She was alone. The blankets rustled loudly in the quiet as she turned over. She really wasn't tired. Her thoughts drifted as she watched the light dance on the curtains with mild interest. She missed her mother. Even though the Queen was a busy person, she had always made time to see her youngest daughter. That is, before Halas was born, just a season ago. So vivid was Sindri's memory of that day...

The cradle was covered in such a profusion of pale blue lace she had to stand on tip-toe just to peek over the edge until Father lifted her up to see. The new baby was a bundle of blue fleece blankets with a face pink and wrinkled like it might have been old with glossy dark eyes like Mother's. Its hands were so tiny, yet with perfectly formed fingernails. Father set her back on her own feet before she could look all she wanted. He was talking to Mother so she couldn't ask for him to lift her up again. The little dwarf girl tried to look over the edge of the cradle again but was distracted by her Father's harsh tone. "-I have the right to name my child!" Father's eyebrows were low and angry and his eyes were challenging; Sindri watched with a shocked expression. She had never seen her father so angry. "This is no place for such a discussion, Davdri!" her mother retorted with an exaggerated glance at Sindri as her long green skirts rustled angrily. "His name is Halas, and you have no such right," she said with firmness that would usually make the entire court go silent. Sindri had seen her mother at court before and she could get in quite a temper, but she always won, and so it seemed this time also. Father looked appalled and shocked, and that was all she could see before she was bustled out of the room by her nurse.

Since then, rumors had been flying. The little boy was not legitimated, a bastard heir, perhaps with his mother's royal blood, but not the prince they had wanted. However, Mother didn't seem to care, Halas was constantly attended by Mother and her jealous black eyes that coveted him more than gold: no nurse for Halas unless she had a court function to attend. Halas was the reason why Sindri hadn't seen her own mother for nearly a week. Halas was the reason jealousy rested like a cold hand on her chest.

Roused from her sleepy reminiscing, Sindri opened her eyes in the dim light, blinking and trying to listen. An eerie sound drifted through the hall. Curious she slid out of her warm bed, her toes touching the cool floor for a moment. Making up her mind in that instant, Sindri went to the wooden door that smelled slightly of pine and the oil used on the latching mechanism and pressed her ear to the smooth warm wood; the door was too thick to hear anything. She twisted the iron knob, feeling the raised patterns under her small fingers, and opened the door, its lock sliding smoothly open. Leaning to look past the doorframe and down the cold hallway she saw a slim short figure in dark blue skirts that was kneeling in the hallway. Definitely female by her curves, she was almost a silhouette the way she sat just touching the pool of blue light cast by lanterns hung on the walls. The dwarven woman seemed to be singing a lullaby to something blocked from sight, it sounded like a crying nightingale. Careful not to make a sound, not even the brushing of fabric on the marble floor, the princess made her way into the middle of the hall where she could see what was behind the mysterious dark lady.

She looked pale in the dim light; the glow haunted her features like a second skin revealing an emaciated soul. She rocked the form in her pale arms and sang a wordless song of gentleness in a hushed tone. Blonde hair bound in a single braid trailed from the crook of her arm where a girl, older than Sindri, rested her head. For an instant a golden chain with a tear shaped ruby caught the light from amongst the blonde braid. Sindri stood still as a statue frozen in the winter sun. Absent-mindedly a hand went to her neck fingering an identical chain with an identical gem swinging from it where she wore it for sleep. The traditional braid chains for dwarven girls always had the gem of their clan and the cut of their house; and a ruby teardrop was for the royal family. But what was going on with her older sister?

A careless step forward alerted the woman to her presence. She turned on Sindri with dark eyes, eyes so dark they had to belong to her mother. Standing slowly, with grace fit for a queen, she raised herself to her full height. A silver glitter was in her right hand and blue light shone on a puddle at her feet making it appear metallic. "Mother? Why is Mailyn on the floor? What's wrong Mother?" Sindri asked with an unsteady voice, as if the very air she breathed seemed to scream of fear. "She's sleeping darling," her mother said tenderly with compassion in her voice. "Come to Mommy and let me tuck you in bed." She beckoned with open palms, a comforting gesture. Sindri ran and clung to her mother's skirts like it was sanctuary. She pulled her face away from the sweet scent of sandalwood and candle wax that was so familiar and looked at Mailyn. Her usually pink lips were parted and white; red dripped from the lace neckline of her snowy nightgown. Shock and an icy touch on her neck awakened a voiceless scream that wracked Sindri, she had no voice, just horror at her beloved sister's fate. She jerked away from her mother and ran not, looking back. She ran away, to the safe place.

As all the children of the ancient city knew there were protectedplaces, small doorways cunningly made so they could escape when the city was under attack. The round doors were the size of windows and always left slightly ajar even in times of peace. A small ridge of stone was made so that if the door was slammed, it would crumble and wedge shut, cutting off the entrance. It could take a skilled dwarven craftsman hours to open one after it had been shut, and it was nigh impossible for anyone else to even notice the shut doors in the wall. Panic flooded Sindri as she ran, turning corners haphazardly and skinning her knee when she slid and fell. She felt no pain but that of her sister and fear of her own mother. Scrambling up, she ran for a door just in sight and wrenched it open. The tunnel was dark and foreboding, smelling of damp moss and stone worked till it was covered in a fine layer of powder. Unsure, she looked back with a tear-stained face for half a moment, then she crawled in the black space; she could not remember when she had started crying. Her miniature hand reached for the handle to close the door, but a soft, larger hand held the door open. The fingernails were well manicured and painted blue with red teardrops. Equally soft words echoed in the small space, "What's wrong dearest?" the voice crooned. Sindri wailed with terror her voice returning shrill and alarmed. "What happened to Mailyn? Why, Mother, why?" She scooted back farther into the dark damp coolness of the tunnel; it was almost comforting despite the stark gloomy aura. She could taste fear in her mouth like a bitter paste. "Sindri, don't you want the best for your brother?" She asked accusingly. "He should be a prince, don't you think? He will make a fine prince..."

Pressed against a wall, cold started seeping into Sindri, and her skin felt damp and numb. What was Mother rambling about? This was crazy talk! Had something possessed her? Why was she acting insane? Everyone, including Sindri, knew by now that Halas was not a prince; he was not her father's child. "Halas can't be a prince," she spat, her fear making her defensive as a wild animal. Her hatred burned. Halas, the golden child, he took her place, her mother's love...and her sister's life. "Oh, but his father will be king, after I come out of mourning." The blue-skirted lady said almost carelessly. The girl glimpsed her mother's loose mouse-brown hair as it lay brushed over a shoulder. "It won't hurt..." she said in a voice frighteningly tender and loving. "I dipped the knife in hemlock. You'll just sleep." Her face appeared in the doorway and a hand reached for her ankle that was within her reach. Sindri screamed and kicked. This was not her mother, she convinced herself. Mother would never scare her, hurt her sister, and talk like her father was dead. Mother would let her sit on her lap as she rocked her to sleep with fairy stories and comb her hair, braiding it with her gentle hands that smelled like the sandalwood incense she burned at the temple. Mother was not this pale painted hand trying to kill her.

Maybe out of pure luck, Sindri's tough little heel struck the mad woman's soft forearm and she recoiled. Hurriedly the girl grasped the stone handle and slammed it with all her strength; a loud clap followed by the sound of broken rock settling separated her into silence. Alone in her own pitch-dark pit of sorrow she wept, clutching her knees till her fingernails drew blood, she bawled like only a lost and hopeless child could. Sindri grieved for Mailyn and her father, all the while nursing a boiling fear and spite for one she would never again call 'Mother'.


End file.
